


Promise

by ScandalousMinds



Series: Confused Love [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angsty Schmoop, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cheesy, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Sherlock, Internalized Homophobia, John Loves Sherlock, John Makes Questionable Life Choices, John is so confused, John is very bad at feelings, John makes everything confusing, M/M, Mentions of Baby Watson, Mentions of Mary, Pre-Parentlock, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Vulnerable Sherlock, slightly OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScandalousMinds/pseuds/ScandalousMinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The follow up to 'Nobody' in which John attempts a breakup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own. I just really love the fandom.  
> Apologies for any errors.

“Sherlock? Sherlock are you in?” John called out, as soon as he’d walked through the door of Baker Street, having finished from the surgery for the week.

Normally, John would’ve just walked up the stairs into the flat to seek out Sherlock. But, he’d known Mrs Hudson had left for her sisters for the week and if he was honest the conversation he was about to have with his mad detective would be easier in a less warm and relaxed environment. He needed sterile and detached. He needed—however foolish a notion it was, he needed this conversation not to touch the sanctity of the flat he and Sherlock shared. However, John wasn’t so sure how well his scheme was going to work out in that regard. He’d spent the whole of his tube ride, working himself up to the conversation he was about to have with his: flatmate; slash, colleague; slash, _boyfriend?_ Slash, lover; slash—and, this one was the most important one…best friend.

And, goddammit he was going to do this.                                                                          

This time he was going to follow through. After 4 weeks of ‘almost’s’ and false starts that led to guilt, shame and more self-loathing. John, was _going_ to follow through this time. By hook or by crook, this was going to happen.

It had to.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_‘No, backing out this time, Watson. This time you follow through.’_ **

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

“Sherlock!” John shouted and just when John was beginning to think that his courage was all for naught and Sherlock wasn’t even in, the mad detective poked his head out through the doorway above him.

“John? Why are you standing down there? Did Lestrade call? He didn’t text me, I swear that man is absolute—”

John knew he had to cut him off mid-rant, otherwise he’d lose the reigns of the conversation completely.

“He didn’t call. I—I just wanted to talk to you. That is to say, I think we should talk.”

“Down there?” Sherlock frowned.

“Yes. Yes, down here would be best, I think.”

After glancing behind him momentarily, the detective made his way down the stairs. He stopped before John and dropped a small dry kiss on John’s mouth, a routine he’d gotten into whenever one or the other of them left or came back from somewhere. And, John as always followed Sherlock’s lead, accepting the kiss as soon as it was offered. It had become somewhat instinctive after the first two weeks, especially once he’d trained himself not to flinch at the contact.

“Alright then. This can’t take long, though. I have stuff on the fire. I can’t allow it to burn, it’s far too important.” The detective smiled and the doctor’s stomach churned nervously.

“Right. Right, okay then. Let’s—take a seat, yeah?” The Doctor had to fight bodily, not to wring his hands.

Again, Sherlock frowned but followed the request, perching on the edge of the fourth step, facing his blogger. “What’s the matter? Is it Mary? Is the baby alright?”

John cringed away from the name he hadn’t even allowed himself to think of in the past 4 weeks, part out of his residual anger and righteous indignation on Sherlock’s behalf and part out of his despair at how convoluted their whole situation was.

“She’s—I believe she’s fine. Mycroft, he hasn’t said is isn’t fine.”

“Hmm, and I suppose he would be the first to know.”

“He would.” John agreed.

“She’ll be giving birth soon. Then, Mycroft will take custody of her and we’ll— _you’ll_ have a daughter.”

John swallowed at the reality of it all. He didn’t miss Sherlock’s slip, he just didn’t know what to do with it, and so he simply replied with a quiet, ‘yes’.

“You’re nervous.” There wasn’t really a question, so no real answer was needed. “There’s no need, we can start work on the upstairs bedroom instantly. I already got Mrs. Hudson to get the paint, and while I don’t necessarily believe in the gender stereotypes that surround the idealisms regarding colour and the moronic naiveties surrounding gender traditions. I did advise her to purchase three diverse shades of pink and one lilac…just in case. Although, the variation in the gradients isn’t really—”

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_‘Christ, he brought paint? I hadn’t even thought—where will I sleep once this is done? I’ll have to move out. There’ll be no room for me, a baby and Sherlock… and his experiments. Will there? God, how had I not thought of this?’_ **

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

“Sherlock.” Sherlock paused mid-speech taking in John’s face and began to look wary. “Sherlock, I _need_ to speak to you. Please.”

The detective swallowed nervously, and nodded once in acquiescence.

John had to look away for a moment before steeling himself and allowing his gaze to meet, his friend’s again.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_‘Do it, do it now.’_ **

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

“I can’t do this.” John breathed, “I am so, so desperately sorry Sherlock. But, I—I can’t do this with you. It doesn’t—I’m not—I can’t. Christ! I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

The endearment was one he found himself saying often in regard to the man before him. It had occurred by accident. Two weeks ago, John had been distracted by his blog at the time and he’d not been concentrating when Sherlock had place a cup beside him and without thinking John at reached out and clasp the detective’s hand and squeezed it uttering a simple ‘thanks, sweetheart’ he had frozen for a moment slowly chancing a glance at Sherlock only to find a shocked sort of awe from the detective, before the most radiant of grins had spread across his face and he had bent down to press a reverent kiss to John’s mouth. After that, John had found the endearment slipping passed his lips with a startling regularity that worried him.

John watched Sherlock’s face as the words washed over him, he wasn’t sure what he had expected but he was pretty certain it wasn’t the wide, doe eyes he got. Wide doe eyes, filled with confusion and incomprehension.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_‘God, I shot Bambi.’_ **

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

“What did I do?” Sherlock whispered.

John frowned, “what?”

“What did I do wrong? I can fix it, whatever it is I can fix it. I promise John, I can be better.”

John wasn’t sure what a monster looked like, but he was sure it was how he felt. “Nothing. My God Sherlock, _you,_ you did nothing. Absolutely, nothing wrong.”

John had the distinct feeling Sherlock heard none of this.

“Is it Mary? Do you want to go back? Because, we could—I mean I’d allow—no, no not allow. I don’t own you, but I’d agree to—”

“Stop! Sherlock, stop, please just…stop.” John pulled in a shaky breath, repulsed at the thought of what the man before him was suggesting. How could Sherlock believe John could even bare that? How could he think John could even bare to look, let alone touch Mary with any kind of affection after what she’s done. After who she was. “I would never do that to you. I would never put you in a position like that. You could never be second place. Never, do you hear me?”

John, had taken several steps forward and was clutching Sherlock’s cheek. Absentmindedly stroking his thumb over the slightly less protruding cheekbone, Sherlock had been eating more of late, agreeing to eat breakfast with John and even offering to take him out most evenings.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_‘Sherlock cares so much.’_ **

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

John barely registered the words he had spoken, to rapt with the feelings, he couldn’t quite place within the moment he had seen Sherlock’s beseeching look. At the hand placed upon his cheek, Sherlock leaned into the touch clutching his hand over John’s so, the doctor could feel his warmth.

“Then why? Why don’t you want me?” Sherlock whispered.

The question stumped the doctor, who honestly wasn’t sure in that moment. So close to the detective, he wasn’t sure why everything felt ‘off’. It just did. John fought for something to say. “I...”

“Is it the baby? Do you not trust me with her? Because, I promise you…I swear it on my life I would never allow any harm to come to her. I’d die for her. John, I swear I would.”

John’s fingers tightened at this, because no, no. Sherlock was getting this all wrong, this wasn’t about him. This was John. This was all John.

“No! I would never doubt you on that. I trust you with my life. I trust you with our daughter’s.”

The words slipped out quicker than he could catch them, this was beginning to happen with a frightening rate of occurrence.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_‘Our daughter? No…of course. Our daughter. That sounds…_ ** **feels _right. Right?’_**

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

Sherlock gazed up a John, his gaze darting and assessing, trying to catalogue what was happening in John’s mind. “ _Our_ daughter? You—what are— _our daughter_?” In one fluid motion Sherlock was standing to his full height plus some since he was on the stairs and he gazed down a John with narrowed eyes, that seeming worryingly red-rimmed. “What are you doing? What are you trying to say? One minute you _‘can’t do this’_ the next you’re all _‘our daughter’._ What is _wrong_ with you?” Sherlock was angry now, and distantly John was so grateful Mrs. Hudson was out.

“I—I” John struggled for words, but Sherlock was just getting started.

“You what? You don’t know? _What do you know, hmm?_ What do you know? Because, honestly you must be one of the most confused men of this godforsaken planet. Do you not understand that your actions and your words have repercussions, have impacts? Impacts on lives, mostly mine. Do you truly not get that? What do you want?”

The doctor opened his mouth, to reply “I d—”

“So help me God, if you say I don’t know. I will clip you clear in the gob. I’m sick of your ‘I don’t knows’ and ‘I don’t understands’. What are you doing here with me? Are you playing with me? Is this some sort of game, plebian minds play with one another?”

And, then for a heart-rending moment Sherlock’s face shuttered, a look John’s not sure he’s seen since the night at the pool with Moriarty. “Is this pity? John, are you with me out of pity? Am I some sort of good will project for you?”

At this John spoke fiercely. “No! No! Definitely not!”

Sherlock shook his head dejectedly. “You’re lying, I can read it in you. I can see it. You pity me.”

“I’m not lying. I’m honestly—I’m not lying, not about this I wouldn’t.” John breathed.

“You would. The same as I for you. If I thought something could or would harm you in any way. I’d lie, in a heartbeat. And, I know you would too.”

“Sherlock…I don’t—it’s not pity…”

“Duty, then? Hmm, was that it John? Did you feel you were duty bound care for the broken sociopath your murderous wife tried to kill? Hmm, did you feel it you duty to fuck him so all the bad feelings went away? Did you feel duty bound to try and love the _lonely-little-freak_ , no one else wanted? Was that what these last few weeks have been about?”

“NO! I do. I do, love you Sherlock. That may be the one thing, I actually am certain of—comfortable with. I do love you.”

“THEN WHY DON’T YOU WANT ME!” Sherlock screamed, and for a moment John was startled by the ferocity of the words.

“I do.” John whispered almost as shocked by the words as Sherlock seemed to be.

The detective slumped dejectedly at the words and crumpled back to being seated on the stair, he had previously stood on, running a hand over his face, smearing away the dampness that had made its way there. “I can’t blame you, entirely.” He spoke with a muffled breath. “I was aware of your…distaste, to my body. I knew you found me, unappealing. I saw and I observed, but I ignored it anyway. I tried to improve it, I’ve been eating more. I thought maybe, if I were fuller, perhaps less bony in the places you were unaccustomed to, you might start to want me, like I want you. I had hoped you might start to find me attractive. I see now that no amount of weight will change what is all but blatant for us both to see, I am entirely the wrong gender, and therefore I repulse you. I apologies for toll this has taken on you.

Sherlock brushed a damp thumb under the doctor’s tired eyes, and John could have let it go. He could have taken the out Sherlock had just presented him with, but it didn’t feel right for Sherlock not to at least hear it once.

“You’re beautiful to me, Sherlock. Completely, beautiful. I love you with every ounce of my being, it’s just that—” John struggled for the words he needed.

“I’m decidedly more male, than you would like.” Sherlock finished.

“I have to be honest, yeah. Yeah, I do struggle with that. I don’t want to and I hate…truly, hate that I do, but I do struggle nonetheless.”

“You promised, me this wouldn’t happen. That night I told you, not to do this unless you were sure. And, you promised me you were, you promised you wouldn’t hurt me.” The words weren’t angry and that’s perhaps what made them worse to hear.

“I know.” John whispered back.

“It’s alright, John. I understand, this is something…I get that you can’t help this.”

“God, please, please don’t be understanding Sherlock. Don’t be decent about this.” John groaned, throwing his face into his palms.

“What do you suggest? I refuse to lose you over this, your friendship can be enough. If that is all I’m aloud, then that is what I’ll take. We can do this. We’ve done it before, we can do it again.”

“You’d do that? You’re really willing to go back to how we were?” John frowned.

“If it’s the only way to keep you in my life, of course. Of course I would.” It was the small, sad smile at the end that did it. He couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to. He had the out he had wanted and yet, it didn’t feel even as third as freeing as it ought to have. His instinct in that moment made no quantifiable sense other than, he needed to—he wanted to. John surged forward, pulling Sherlock half forward into his lap, a dangerous move considering how the doctor was only just kneeling precariously on the edge of the step himself. One single second of a loss of balance and they both would have fallen. But, John for no reason he could understand, other than if he didn’t he thought he might die, needed Sherlock’s soft, warm always so welcoming mouth on his. He clutched at younger man’s waist needing to convey just how must he adored him, even if he himself wasn’t sure how or why it was going to work. Both of Sherlock’s hands clung to the doctor’s face as he whimpered brokenly against his tongue. John pulled back enough to catch the dazed look in Sherlock’s eyes “You are so, incredibly beautiful. I know for a fact, I will never get this completely right. But, you need to know, I think you’re beautiful.”

“I don’t understand.” Sherlock rasped and a John half-way chuckled.

“Me either.”

“But, do you want me? Truly? I don’t need pity or some misguided sense—”

“I want you.” The doctor interrupted. “Truly. I don’t understand it, and I’m not completely at ease but…this, whatever dysfunction _this_ is, is what I want.”

“But, I disgust you—my…the body I have disgusts you.”

“I disgust me—the little voice in my head disgusts me—it’s not you, it was never you. Not ever.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Good. Don’t, you deserve to have me prove it to you.” John smiled, a sad but warm, little thing that matched Sherlock’s. It was laced with confusion and apprehension, but for some unknown reason the thought of not waking up next to Sherlock, not being able to be…with him, had terrified and nauseated the former captain. He couldn’t take the out and he had been foolish to have ever thought he could have been capable of doing so. “Come on, let’s go up, my knee’s cramping.”

Just then Sherlock’s eyes grew wide, “Fire!”

John had just barely caught hold of the banister when Sherlock push him away and ran up the stairs. The doctor followed quickly after him, just in time to catch Sherlock throwing a damp rag over the burning wok on the stove. John was about to ask what the hell was going on with he caught site of the kitchen table, adorned with a white lace table cloth, obviously from Mrs. Hudson’s, two candles and, Mrs. Hudson’s good china plates. John looked up with questing eyes, catching Sherlock fiddling with the slightly burnt cuff of his shirt. John moved forward toward him, gripping and inspecting his wrist.

“Are you hurt? Did you burn yourself?”

“No, simply a little singed is all.”

“Sherlock, what is this?”

“It’s nothing.”

“This is blatantly not, nothing. Why did you do this?”

“I…I was informed that anniversaries are important and should be marked as such. Thus, this idiocy.” Sherlock pointed at the table as if it had betrayed him.

“Anniversary?” The doctor had frowned, until it had hit him.

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

**_4 weeks. Idiot._ **

***   ***   ***   ***   ***   ***

“Oh. It’ been a month.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock said none committedly, but John could read the tension in his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock. I didn’t—I didn’t think. Sorry. I don’t have anything for you.”

“No matter. It’s perhaps for the best in any regard. Two grown men celebrating a month since coitus began, is inane. It was foolish for me to think that…this was stupid.”

“This was important to you wasn’t it?”

“No.” The answer was too quick and too sharp and John could tell by the way that Sherlock winced after saying he, could tell he’d given himself away too.

“Change your shirt.”

Sherlock looked up from staring daggers at the clothed table to blink confusedly at the man before him. “What?”

John nodded towards the bedroom. “Go change. If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to do this properly. You haven’t seen this yet, but I’m a good boyfriend.” John cleared his throat “I haven’t shown you yet, I can _be_ a good boyfriend. That changes now. I’m going to start doing things right, and hopefully everything else will follow. So, go change. Your boyfriend is taking you out on a date, for your anniversary.”

Sherlock’s eyes shone, “John, you don’t have to—”

“I know, but I haven’t been the way I should be, the way you deserve. I’m going to fix that, things aren’t going to be perfect straight away but, this is a start. Now go change, you know how I hate to repeat myself.” John smiled as Sherlock chuckled, a sound immediately swallowed by John’s mouth. Sherlock sighed allowing John to cradle his neck while carding his fingers through the younger man’s curls. Resting his forehead against the detectives, John spoke quietly. “I promise you things will be better, I’m going to make things better. I want things to be as perfect as they can be for when our daughter arrives. I’m going to do this for you, because you would do so much more for me. I adore you and I will prove that. Things are going to be great, I promise you sweetheart. I promise you that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not completely sure how I feel about this one, but I just thought a fluffier part 2 was needed...although, yes this is also quite angsty (it happens in everything I write, I still have no clue as to why.) It is super duper cheesy (I think so at least) but hey, it should be fine unless you're lactose intolerant. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope it was at least in some way enjoyable. Please let me know what you think...thoughts and feedback are always welcome.
> 
> x


End file.
